Scarlet Midnight
by Magic After Midnight
Summary: A new vampire and his human/emergency-food-rations move just outside of Forks. Enrolled for the last year of high school she never finished by Apollo the vampire , Jules befriends a similar girl named Bella. Deviation, original characters, incomplete
1. Contents & Summary

Scarlet Midnight

**Summary:**

DEF#1 Cushing's Syndrome - over production of blood cells, due to a tumor or merely an imbalance in the pituitary gland causing an increased release of Corsitol by ACTH; cure is to drain blood periodically, if imbalance, or remove (if present) the tumor

DEF#2 Cushing's Syndrome - a vampire's wildest dreams: an excess of sugar saturated blood

It's like liquid candy!

TWILIGHT/NEW MOON fan fiction.

A new vampire and a human emergency food rations move just outside of La Push and Forks. Enrolled for the last year of high school she never finished by Apollo (the vampire), Jules befriends a similar girl named Bella and gets a little too friendly with Jacob Black, a werewolf, for her boyfriend's taste.

A short deviation from Stephenie Meyer's world wide series.

**Rating:** PG-13  
**Categories:** Books  
**Characters:** None  
**Genres:** Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Humor, Romance  
**Warnings:** Violence, Language, Mature Content  
**Series:** Twilight/New Moon/Eclipse/Breaking Dawn (Stephanie Meyer)  
**Published: **05/17/07  
**Updated: **10/07/07

**Index**

Chapter 1: Morning Sickness  
Chapter 2: The Move  
Chapter 3: Foreign  
Chapter 4: Introductions


	2. Morning Sickness

He lingered desperately by the nape of my neck, as if his cool touch and sudden inhaling of my scent might just intoxicate me enough to loose all sense and thought. As if his dazzling me might surrender a form of consent or permission. Fortunately, the two years spent inseparably together made me stronger, less susceptible to his charms and whims. I could deny things now, perfect in my weakness, from his touch and from my own rapid beating heart.

"No," I whispered helplessly. Not now. Not after two years of patience and endurance. We can't throw to the win the impossibility of our accomplishment. Not now. "Wait a while longer."  
He growled in that seductively dulcet voice. His tone was harsh in its own way, resembling a gorgeous voice singing a rough song. "But I'm thirsty now."

His lips touched my skin, parting slightly as if it would help pass the time or even warn me that he had no intention of waiting. I knew he could control himself, if he wanted to. He could withhold his sharp fangs from puncturing my jugular. But he wasn't in the mood for patience. Denying my feelings on the subject, for I full well knew I'd sacrifice everything, my life, in an instant to ensure his smile. I pleaded quietly, "Tomorrow. I promise you. I'll go to my doctors appointment, we'll head up to Washington, and you'll get what you want. Please. Just wait till tomorrow."

He groaned, rapid, inaudible words, and flung himself angrily on the bed. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, relieved that his temper hadn't proceeded any further. I knew I barely comprehended how difficult this must be for him, the frustration of it all. I wonder how he'd react if I changed my mind, giving the okay to feed, to take my life.

"Lay down," he ordered, grabbing a hold on my wrist and yanking my carelessly from my sitting position at the edge of our bed. Turning my head, I saw the scowl still present on his face and the scarlet colour his eyes had turned. He was ravenous, and I realized just how much patience and control he must possess. After a few minutes of glaring at me, he attempted a slight smile, lightening his obviously disappointed features. His eyes were still the same shade of red, but his voice had taken that familiar musical tone. "Tomorrow then. . ."

He kissed me softly, pulling me into his icy embrace. I sighed and promptly fell asleep in his arms.

-When I woke up, I felt groggier than usual. I felt the chill of his cold lips pressed gently against my forehead. I moaned, as is customary to my mornings, attempting to sit up with a swarming head. My body felt heavier than normal, but I ignored it. In the usual blindingly sudden speed, Appolyon was sitting up in bed as well, holding me lovingly in his embrace. His eyes were a darker hue than they had been, but his temper had dissipated sometime in the night.

Him and his mood swings. I swear, you'd think it was his time of the month.

Dizzy, I pulled out of his arms and stood up. I wobbled, but I held out a finger to stop him from helping me. If I was going to shatter his beliefs in my fragileness, I'd have to learn to fend for myself. My voice was weak, but I knew he could easily hear me breathe, "I'm going to take a shower."

He smiled, and if my head had not already been disorderly and scrambled, I'm sure it would have had a stronger affect on me. As it was, I managed to see through it. His voice was purposefully seductive, yet at the same time replying innocently, "I'll join you."

I shook my head, making my way weakly to the bathroom. "No, you know the rules."

His voice sounded like a sulky child, and I'm sure he was pouting beautifully. "You and your rules."

I closed the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. If he really wanted to get in, no lock would stop him. He wouldn't have to find a way in, he'd make one. I stripped off my oversized T-shirt and baggy sweat pants. Removing all other articles and without glancing in the mirror, I walked into the shower. The immediate cold water shocked my body a little, but only enough to make my heart pound a fraction of a second faster. Appolyon's body was unusually cold, so I had long grown accustom to such temperatures. As it slowly warmed up, I realized I was still as dizzy as when I first opened my eyes. No.

I was worse.

My veins felt pressured, blood slowly passing through. It felt thick, heavy, and my body wasn't acting right. I fumbled for the knob, turning off the shower. Snatching the towel with loose, weak fingers, I rapped it around my body and stepped carelessly out of the shower.

As if in slow motion, I could feel myself fall.

And in a split second, Appolyon had caught me and was easily holding me up. Concern was more dominant than the colour of his eyes, that much was still certain to my scattered wits.

"Bathroom's off limits," I reprimanded, trying to simultaneously gain a hold on my head as well as my body. I felt heavier by the minute, so I was failing the latter miserably. My mind had only formed that single thought, so the former as well had not been accomplished. I was still far too proud to ever admit that, however.

"You and you're stupid rules," he repeated, refusing to relinquish a hold on my arm, trying very patiently to steady me. He saw me sway under his grasp and was sensitive to the fact that I'd fall over if he were to listen to me. As if he ever listened to me.

"Out," I tried to be convincingly strong, but my weak voice betrayed me and the word cracked in my throat. I managed to glare at him, relieved that at least that part of my body obeyed me. Everything else seemed to waver like a leaf in the breeze. But even though I knew just his breath could knock me over without his support, I didn't want him in here. The bathroom was my sanctuary and he was not welcomed, for better or for worse.

"You need to sit down," he commanded sweetly. And in a blurring movement, he was setting me down on the toilet lid. I gathered up all my remaining strength to fight him, but he held me down firmly, his two able hands pressing a little too roughly on my shoulders. I'd have bruises there, but I knew he'd never see them. Just like all the others. . .

I didn't give up, my body just fell immobile and limp on its own accord. I could only fight back with cruel looks and biting remarks, even if those words came out hoarse and broken.

"What's the doctor's number." It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

I spat back defiantly, growling which was something I'd picked up from two years with him, "My appointment's not for another three hours."

"He knows your condition?" He took my silence as a confirmation. "Then he'll come. What's the number?"

I turned my head away, glaring at the chipping paint on the wall.

He growled at my hard headedness, more effectively than me. Then again, he had more practice at it and somehow used it more often than not. It was rare for me to be this angry, while full on tantrums were expected from him. Today we'd switched places: he was calm and I was in the foul temper. His voice was beautiful, but I'd so grown accustom to his enchanting accents that I knew that he'd be in his black mood at any given provocation. He pleaded, his tone alone 'suading me that he didn't want to fight me. "Jules, please. . ."

It was his unbearable patience and kindness towards me that pushed me off the edge. Somehow I had strength enough in my voice now, yelling with unnatural volume, "Jules NOTHING! You don't care, you don't GIVE A THOUGHT TO MY CONDITION. THREE HOURS! YOU JUST DON'T WANT TO WAIT THREE FRICKEN HOURS TO GET WHAT YOU WANT. 'I'M HUNGRY NOW!' YOU JUST WANT TO GO NOW SO YOU CAN FEED SOONER!"

More than the twisting in my stomach, more than his stone rigidness at my words, I could see past his shining ruby eyes, that I hurt him. I cut him deeply. Wisdom will always choose my pathetic bruises, over the heartache that my words can cause to reflect in those lovely eyes. It hurt just to watch him. It hurt, but I couldn't help but hold that pitiful gaze and search that tormented face for any sign of forgiveness.

"No. . . that's. . . wrong. I'm the one frustrated. I'm the one at fault." Such careless words. I don't believe them, so why do I say them? Why do such hurtful words flow so easily? "It's my fault. I'm the only one I should blame." My head fell into my hands and I didn't even try to stifle my sob. "I'm heartless. Sorry. I'm so very sorry." But I can't ask him to forgive me, because I know with a single plea he'd smile and comply in an instant. And who would be left to punish me then?

He smiled, and that agony shining in his glassy red eyes melted into warm compassion. He smiled beautifully, simply stating, "You're sick." As if that was all the penance in the world. . .


	3. The Move

Trees flashed by, blending perfectly into the rest of the scenery in so rapid a pace they were no more than streaks of colour racing across my vision. I assumed we were in the mountains somewhere, on a little road just a few miles from the coast. It was all a green blur to my eyes, so all I had to go on was educated guesses. Obviously, it wasn't the trees that were speeding, but I knew better than to glance over at the speedometer. There are things in life it's just easier not to know. Still, to keep from car sickness, I had to look away from the window.

I'd already seen the doctor, so I was as good as new. I didn't feel heavy, groggy, and my mind wasn't a complete mush from dizziness. I could react properly now. So as I turned my head towards him, I caught on a breath of air. God, he was so beautiful. That was the only comprehensive thought that raced through my brain for the next minute. I don't know how I could ever forget or over look such radiance, in sickness or health, and yet my mental pictures of him never do him justice. I get the feeling that they never will. But there he sat, a living reminder within arms reach of why I nicknamed him Apollo.

My gaze followed the outline of his body, staring in awe and wonder first at his slight yet muscled arm. Did he always have to wear sleeveless shirts, even in this cold? It made me chilled just looking at him. But before I could shiver in response to the thought, my mind became more pleasantly engaged as my eyes traced up his arm and began to study his perfectly toned chest, hinted at beneath a thin layer of cloth. It always amazed me how lithe, graceful, and slim he could be and yet could possess such perfect musculature. I just stared, and I couldn't tell anyone if I had breathed at all during that moment that felt like a blissful eternity. If I didn't look away now, I was sure I would never be able to. That was a mistake. I had to stifle a gasp, regardless of the two years I spent gazing at his perfect features. It was always like going from the body of Ares to the face of Apollo. He was the definition of a perfectly stone-carved Greek idol. Appolyon's parent might have named him for an angel, but, like the blasphemer I'd become, I called him for a god. That was why he was Apollo.

He'd been watching me warily for some time, I could tell just by his first expression. I had to distract myself from the fact that he still wouldn't keep his eyes on the road, even just for my benefit, so I didn't look away but rather met his gaze. The gaze of those two, soft shades of burgundy coloured eyes. Just glancing at them, it was obvious he was still more than a little concerned about my health. That's right; he could be now. Men are always pleasant after the crabbiness of starvation, or the exaggeration of. I'm not sure which he had had, but he was now pleasant all the same. Oh the wonders of a full stomach. He still looked a little worried.

But in a split second that felt longer than it should, I watched with a blind fascination as his lips lifted gracefully, deepening the corners of his mouth as the line drew into a beautiful Roman arch. Dazzling. It was all I could do to finally return my gaze to lock with those pale maroon eyes. In spite of the dark mood that always accompanied it, I preferred the deep scarlet his eyes turned when hungry. It matched the light tint of his hair best.

Appolyon had been born September 12, 1839, the only son of a wealthy English gentleman and his Japanese mistress. His father had earned his fortune through trade, rather than through birth rank, and like many of the time bought his title and way into the aristocracy. His father was ruthless, hot tempered, but he desperately loved his Japanese wife. Even when the world had not agreed and the aristocrats looked down and snubbed him, he treated her wonderfully and always neglected the fact that she was only a mistress, not a true wife under law. She was a beautiful foreigner, majestic and an exotic find in London, and Appolyon was blessed by God with all her better features. He possessed the best of both worlds; the grace and charm of a true Englishman with the subtle hints of his foreign parent, through thick black hair that tints red in the sun, like most Orientals, a flawless feminine face, and a pale complexion. He got his beauty from his mom, but got his height and temper from his father.

Appolyon had been born through the death of his mother and his father had hated him for it. Held in contempt that it cost his love's life for him to live, his father had christened him Appolyon, meaning Destruction, and named for the angel in Revelation who released a torture on mankind but didn't have the pity enough to take their lives. That's who he was to his father, a torment who'd never end his suffering and send him to be with his beloved once more.

But to me, he was Apollo. Beautiful, flawless, a god in human form; and his eyes matched his hair better with a darker shade of red.

"How do you feel?" Even with that seraphic smile, his eyes still probed my face cautiously.

How do I feel? As if he didn't already know. I'm here, away from my mother and brother, from all humanity, sitting patiently in a car going far past its capacity, a vampire by my side who yearns to drink my dry and has the temperament to do it, as we speed our way from sunny California to the pouring, cloudy skies of Washington, on the run like always and never living in one place for too long just in case some one catches on. As if he hadn't known the answer; didn't already notice the thrill that filled me and set my heart sputtering erratically with excitement. How did I feel? There's no proper single word response to describe it, the exhilaration and raptures of it all. I had to settle for less.

I shrugged, it taking far too much effort to make it seem like a careless motion. "Wonderful."

"Really?" His voice fluctuated perfectly, as if singing notes and lyrics of a gentle song. I let the beauty of his velvety voice fill my ear, echoing throughout my head. I felt his eyes scrutinize my face, deeper, still searching for something obviously not visible on the surface. "Cause you seemed to have been a little out of breath." His gaze left me and rested on the road, but I knew him far too well to be fooled that he was actually paying attention. His mind was wandering, somewhere else completely and nowhere near driving. "Whenever I ask you how you feel, you always give me the positive and, no matter how many times I've seen you smile, I can't tell if you're lying. Sometimes I wish I could read your thoughts."

"And sometimes I wish I didn't know yours."

He grinned deviously at my attempt at sarcasm and lightening the mood, and I knew how he could have easily been mistaken for a devil. He looked the part of a gorgeous fallen angel, sent here to seduce and to tempt. Yet even so, I can't imagine how anyone can hate that face. I never knew his father, but I've heard all those silly sayings: Like father like son, the apple never falls far from the tree, and the sins of the father affect the son. All that jazz. So I took his portrait from Appolyon's description of him, what I saw in himself and came by my conclusion that way.

Simply stated, he was just as Appolyon is now. How could he hate such a face, the face of his beloved, the last gift she left behind? So I took it for accident. He must have unknowingly hurt the one he loved, like I feel and hear so many others do. But then I must picture Appolyon a little like me when he was… younger, human. Out of love and fear of his father, he hid his emotionally inflicted scars and bandaged up the wounds, poorly, by himself. When you love someone, truly love someone, the last thing you want to do is disappoint them or put them at blame. So we try harder, blame ourselves, and forgive him without a thought to the damage caused. But Appolyon must have grown out of that stage and unknowingly became his father.

"So where're we headed?"

He turned back to the road, fidgeting, and I could tell he was a little bit excited. He'd been waiting for this question. He'd prepared the answer mentally, constructing it word for word in his mind. He has way too much time on his hands. "I bought a little house of the way from Seattle. I thought it'd be a pleasant change of pace to spend some time in the country. You've never been, right? Well, it's just a bit from this small town called Forks and between it and some Indian Reservation site. I think it's called La Push or something."

I gaped at him, jaw loose and eyes wide, staring in utter disbelief. Was that the reaction he had been waiting for? "You bought a house?" My mind whirled.

"It was practically free," he commented, strategically dodging and purposefully straying from the main point. I wouldn't have it.

I shook my befuddled head, repeating with perfect emphasis this time so he could no longer feign misunderstanding, "You bought a _house_?"

His smile widened and I felt myself suddenly plunge into that frazzled dizziness that possessed my mind so frequently. His voice was cheerful, hopeful, and trying to aim at something that my scattered wits couldn't grasp at that point. "It's not normal for a person to move every month like a criminal and be so detached from humanity. I thought we could stay a while. Settle for a bit. It'd be good for you."

"A bit?"

"Juliana," he said my full name as if trying to explain something common sense should have already told me, yet obviously forgot to mention. "Do you really think I could live with myself for the rest of eternity if I knew my constant hiding and keeping under the radar stopped you from graduating high school?"

"HIGH SCHOOL!" My voice cracked, shrill with fear. I didn't very often pray, but there was no other proper response to that. Please God, tell me he didn't. . .

"I enrolled us in the local of Forks."

Oh God, he did!

"Wait… us?"

His smiles were like snow flakes from heaven, not two ever alike. They always dazzled me, put my mind in shambles, and came in newer, more radiant forms. One just melted right into the other. "I'm nineteen," he said proudly. "I could pass for a senior."

"You've been nineteen for over two hundred years, Apollo." Hate to state the obvious.

"And hopefully, you'll only have to be once." Another cutting reminder that he'd never let me live it down. He wanted to put it through my thick head that my suggestion was completely denied. He continued on, in the same too damn pleasant mood. "But first, you have to finish high school."

I didn't want to respond to that, either of the two statements, so I didn't. I forced myself to look away from his perfect form and peer out the window. Again, nothing could be distinguished. Except the rain. Unlike southern California where it took an hour for dew to become a light sprinkle, water just dumped down from the skies and fell heavily upon his shiny blue Mustang. I stared desperately out the window, in love with the rain. I loved the sun too, but there is a time and place for everything. Right now it was the shower of water flooding over the car that inspired ardent affections deep within me. It was so beautiful, I was tempted to roll down the window, put out my hand, and catch it. Those drops of water falling rapidly, shimmering in the headlights.

The car stopped, and I realized we must be home, even if the falling downpour made it impossible to tell through the watery veil. I listened as the engine turned off to the splashes of water dropped effortlessly down, drumming on every part of the car like thousands of rapid, bored fingers.

Home.

Slowly, I stepped out of the car, letting heaven's floodgates pour everything out on top of me. No hood, no hat, no jacket; just me in my T shirt and jeans, standing peacefully in the rain, getting drenched to my core. Soundlessly, with the stealth of a wildcat, Appolyon was beside me, wrapping those bare granite arms around me. It was only just then I shivered.

"Come on," he whispered, playing with a soaking strand of hair. "You'll catch cold."

"All the more reason to miss school," I parried.

He chuckled musically, and with all the patience in the world, slowly made the way back with me until we were under the safety of the porch. Standing as still as stone, I stared in neither absolute horror nor amazement. It was simply… strange. I stood there, letting the water drip from off my body, barely realizing Appolyon behind me, smelling my hair. It came to me a little when I heard the overdramatic sigh. Before I knew it, he was leading my playfully inside, not a rental, not an apartment.

Home. . .


	4. Foreign

It was a weird sensation, foreign. I had to run my fingers over everything, just to let the touch reassure me it was all there, simply, truly. The house was old, empty, and much too large for just the two of us to occupy. Far larger than I was use to anyway. All the motels, apartments, and rentals we ever staid at were a one size fit all. Always a one bedroom/living-room/kitchen with a rundown bathroom and usually broken shower I'd spend two years overcoming claustrophobia in, idling my days away in a confined space with him. But it was different now. This place, reminding me in so many ways of a cabin, had a completely different feel. It was ours, mine. It was a strange sensation that filled me at that thought. I owned something with roots, planted in one spot. It would never be uprooted and replanted again.

Till that moment, I had always believed that silly saying: Home is where the Heart is; I was wrong. So very wrong. Convincing myself that anywhere where I was with my heart, Appolyon, would be enough for me was merely wishful thinking. It was different now. I had a place to call my own, with him, forever. A Sunday school Bible verse filled my head. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. I hoarded all my treasures and set them on a place with roots, a place of consistency. Creatures of habit need something steady so they can make their new tendencies habitual.

Heart is where your Home is.

There were two bedrooms (only one obviously needed), one bathroom, a full sized living-room, a kitchen, a study, and an up and downstairs, all of which was completely empty with the acceptation of the bedroom. Appolyon, once more, somehow miraculously arranged for a bed to be left behind and, before I was done gaping in shock, had all my things in the closet and bathroom precisely the way I liked them.

Know it all.

My fingers trailed down the railing, keeping a steady watch on my feet as I placed one after the other onto the lower step. Being the klutz that I was, I didn't want to risk it. That was silly. Even my mind, in partial denial as it was, knew deep inside I'd find a way to take a spill. And right on cue, I tripped over that ever so traitorous air and stumbled over the last few steps, barely catching myself on the railing right before smacking onto the hardwood floor. I gasped in shock and shot my gaze up the stairs in suspense.

I sighed in relief. I half expected to see Appolyon standing up there, chuckling happily to himself. He loved how I tripped over everything and nothing in particular. He said it was merely from the fact that he'd always liked damsels in distress, knowing I filled that role perfectly, and that my lack of balance was endearing. I think it stirred from pure amusement of how absolutely pathetic humans can truly be.

Either way, I was glad he wasn't there to see it.

With a single, carefully calculated stride, I was in the barren kitchen. No table, no chairs, no dishes, no food; I was sure wherever or however far Appolyon was, he could still hear my stomach grumble. Whenever I got hungry, I'd sarcastically complain of low blood sugar. Our little inside joke. What an utterly ridiculous concept. I would have laughed inwardly if my growling wouldn't have drowned it out anyway. I was hungry, nevertheless. Thoughtlessly, I went to open one of the cupboards, like when you go and stare into your refrigerator knowing exactly what you'll find inside of it: nothing. And yet to my surprise, it was full… of seemingly new human food. It was my stomach that had urged me on, otherwise I might have just stood there in shock all day, staring at the filled cabinet. Obviously sometime in the night he had wandered out to get me food.

I smiled, brimming both inwardly and outwardly with mirth, realizing he only knew how to buy me snacks. I grabbed a box of cookies and took a comfortable squat on the hardwood floor. My hearing had grown acute by living with him, but still nowhere as perfect as his. It was only then I heard an impossibly inaudible sound on the top of the stairs and glanced up, cookie still halfway in my mouth.

Appolyon was leaning casually against the wall, grinning smugly as he watched me. He was too obviously proud of himself that he even remembered that his human pet had to be fed. I'm sure if anyone else could see him, they'd expect him to hug himself and give himself his own little pat on the back. I would've loved to spoil his impish smile by stating he'd only managed to get me junk food, but I was as much in love with that dazzling smile as I was with him.

I smiled back, forgetting how ridiculously dorky I had to appear with a chocolate chip cookie half way in my mouth. He chuckled melodiously in response, a deep, musical, sound that echoed and bounced off every empty wall, giving in to the illusion that it resounded from everywhere at once. I savored the sound like one savors a taste, tilting my head sillily to focus more on the perfect Roman arch his upturned mouth always formed.

"Breakfast time for the human," he asked just loud enough for my still human ears to pick up. "So, did I do good?"

I swallowed the cookie, forgetting how to chew properly first. I ignored the discomfort as the hard chunk passed roughly through my throat, joking lightly, "Well, with all these snacks, I won't have to worry about low blood sugar, now will I?"

It took a good moment to realize he had used his blinding speed to move into the kitchen, leaning ever so nonchalantly against the vacant counter. Even if my ears had adjusted a little, my eyes would never get used to that. His voice was a playful purring in reply, "You never did."

"Then is this some sort of hint? I've heard of boyfriends that bought their girls some weight-loss shakes as a subtle hint that they're fat. So are you trying to tell me I'm not sweet enough for your taste?"

It was too easy for him to be himself around me. In the beginning, he use to be a little more cautious, at the very least moving slow enough for me to see the change. Now he just instantaneously materialized behind me as if he'd been there all along, pulling me into those perfect arms and deeper against him. His skin was hard, cool, but it was more the shock of being so close to him that sent my heart sputtering. His smile deepened. I could tell by his embrace, simply by the feel of the way he held me in those stone carved arms. We both knew he was listening to the inconstant rhythm of my heart.

"You're _too_ sweet," he murmured dreamily into the hollow of my ear, and it was hard to keep my thoughts straight enough to note the implied double meaning. "I'm a little worried with what will happen today when you're surrounded by other people, humans, your age. I'm not sure what I'd do if someone were to try to steal you away." He was breathing in my hair, and that was distraction enough not to edit my words but say the first thing that came to mind.

"You'd kill them."

We both knew it was true, but all the same I shouldn't have said it. It was a constant reminder of his, like everything else, too quick changing temper. I would have been flattered if I had dared to think it was because he was so deeply in love with me, but I knew better than that. He was merely possessive, like his father, and didn't like people touching his things. His mother and I held at least that similarity, we were not permitted by those we loved to enter into society or to have friends.

I could relate to her, I always told myself. I mean, it was longer for her. I only had two years without any mortal company or human interaction. Appolyon didn't like me going out alone, just in case he'd say, and it was not to be debated. And on those rare occasions he'd take me, I was far too distracted with him to pay attention to anyone else. No one else, next to this pagan god, was of true consequence.

School would be interesting at least in that respect. To see his reaction, and mine.

Then, it clicked with me. "Wait, I'm going to school today?"

He nodded his head behind me and made a quiet sound that resembled a 'mm-hmm.' I suddenly pulled out of his arms, turning to face him with a serious expression. I didn't have time to get distracted with his beauty. I felt like a condemned man walking to his execution. My voice was pitiful to my own ears, terrified by such an ordinary subject. "Like this morning today?!"

He was still smiling, but he managed to roll his eyes as if that was childishly obvious. I could feel my heart skip a beat, but not for the usual reason. Knowing this probably better than even me, he was all at once comforting, if not a bit condescendingly mocking. "It'll be fine, Jules. You'll see. Besides, we have a few more hours. It's only four fifty-six."

Stupid rain.

The pretty curtain, made by thousands of drops of water I had admired just a while before, drawn across the sky made it impossible for me to tell what time it was. Back in Southern California, it actually had a sun to rise, even if it did rise a bit too early for my taste. Here, it seemed I'd actually have to buy a watch to tell time, with the sky all wrapped up in dark clouds equally throughout the day. Crap, did I have enough money to buy a watch? Did I have any money? I think I had a quarter in one of my pants' pocket…

Perfectly timed to pull me out of my rapid moving reverie, Appolyon's ice cool lips were set presently against mine. That was enough to stop any form of coherent brain operation. He pulled back slightly, just enough to get a look at my face, his eyes calculating. It took a minute for my breathing to calm and become normal again, because it took exactly one minute for me to realize my breathing was wrong at all. It was hard not to react to him like that, to forget how to function properly but just simply be completely mesmerized.

He was thinking hard about something. It was obvious by his distant expression . . . and the fact that he didn't realize his marble fingers were digging a tad bit too deeply into my arms. At least up here in the cold, I'd have an excuse to wear long sleeves all the time. Even around our old apartments I'd never wear a tank top that'd revealed the tender, discolored flesh. I didn't want to have to lie to him, but I knew if he ever saw I would. So I tried my best not to wince or think how bad the resulting bruises might be. An inner voice mocked me. For someone who frequently reminded me how fragile we humans were, he was so very forgetful himself.

I waited patiently and watched as his eyes flickered with conviction; he had finally made up his mind about whatever he had been deliberating on.

"Because," he began softly, releasing the iron grip on my arms to cup my face nearer his. "Because we have so much time on our hands, I think I would like to try something."

If the scent of his breath blowing in my face didn't make my head whirl, his next kiss sure did. It completed the job of desensitizing me perfectly and the moment's clear headedness evaporated as I went into a complete mental stupor. As he threw to the wind the precautions he must have taken before, for he'd never kissed me like this, I could only recall my bare human instincts: Make it last longer. I pressed back, and I'm sure I could feel his lips turn up in that instant into a smug expression. But then his whole focus returned, and before my jumbled mind could grasp anything, I felt the frozen rigidness even through our clothes of his marble body pressed far too close for comfort against mine.\

And then I was on the floor, lying breathlessly on the much warmer floor boards. My eyes flashed open in response to see him hovering, his arms spread wide in an arch over me. His eyes were measuring my expression and I could see he was deliberating again.

And I finally realized what he wanted.

"Apollo, please. . ."

I should've known my pleading would have only made him more determined. His eyes were firm now and he could probably hear my jagged breathing and my disjointed heartbeat. Only now it was from a different emotion; fear. His voice was softer, as if he were asking my permission. It was a lie for we both knew he'd now long made up his mind on the subject. "Don't be afraid of me, Juliana. I promise not hurt you. You know I would never, don't you? I will be very careful, extremely gentle, I promise. . ."

There was no believing that sweet lie. After all the unintentional bruising, I'd been well aware of what he thought was careful. But that wasn't what scared me. Pain is something I could forget, or at least push to the farthest recesses of my mind. I could forgive Appolyon any injury, intentional or not, because love is irrational. My love is, anyway. What scared me was, unlike feeding him my blood, there was no loophole, no indirect way to avoid the conviction that'd follow this from my giant leather bound Rule Book, as Appolyon deemed fit to call it. Even if there was, I knew I wasn't ready. I was still frightened, but I had to be careful. I had to try and blot out his image so I could think clearly, to form a proper response that might not upset him or push him too far over the edge.

"Appolyon," I tried out, testing it out slowly. "Apollo, you understand, don't you? You can't do it. I mean, what if… what if-"

"I loose control?" He was studying me now, deeply. He leaned down closer, breathing directly on my cheek. "Don't worry about that. I thought it through. I should be fine. I have tasted your blood before; I've had it so often it should be no big deal. Besides, I was just fed yesterday. I'm use to your scent, the smell of your blood, so I shouldn't loose control."

He leaned down to kiss me and I knew if I let him now all else would fail. My will would crumble to dust and my senses scatter to the winds. I knew already I'd sacrifice everything, my life and beliefs, just for that impish smile, to see that perfect arch in the right hand corner of his mouth. So I turned my head away, unable to face him. He pulled back for a second, as if in shock, which lessened the concentration of his succulent breath. But he came back down to plant his lips over my ear, brushing the strands of hair draping over it. He was nearly snarling.

"It's him again, isn't it? He's keeping you away from me. He selfishly demands all of you, your purity. This God of yours. . ."

No.

Only you. I have no other god, only you. . .

I so desperately wanted to say that. The words dangled dangerously from the tip of my tongue, dancing behind my lips. But I couldn't say it. I could never say it, to either of them. It'd be a lie. So I never claimed that either could have all of me, because we all knew it wasn't true. One was my Lord and Savior while the other was my heathen god. Adonai created the universe while Appolyon made up my world. I knew I couldn't serve two masters, but I had become a blasphemer, a heretic. I wanted to keep them both. I hated it.

Things were always set before me that I couldn't have.

Taking my silence and refusal to meet his gaze as confirmation, he pulled back and vanished from the kitchen. Lying on the floor, I stifled the heart wrenching sob that was tearing at my soul.


End file.
